


Quicker Than You Can Say Holy Shit

by gigantic



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-26
Updated: 2006-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigantic/pseuds/gigantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And maybe trust and booze were the reason he made out with Bill Beckett on the balcony the other night, but it probably couldn't account for why he wanted to do it again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quicker Than You Can Say Holy Shit

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Charles Bukowski.

The number was something, like, eight. In a lifetime, the average man would accidentally swallow about eight spiders in his sleep. He saw it on a Snapple cap once, and Travis remembered it because it cracked him up. The average man, like, yo, if you worked at the post office it was that nice round, single-digit fate, but if you happened to be a superhero, it might be more. Might be less. A man would find and crush hundreds under his boot over the years, but the sneaky ones would get inside him while he was distracted and vulnerable. It was unfortunate, but ultimately something one could live through and forget about unless, why the hell not, he woke up Spiderman. In that case, it might be the most important thing that ever happened to the dude.

Whenever he got high, he thought about connecting it to another metaphor for love or life, so. He thought about it a lot.

Something like -- beautiful girls and great sex came and went constantly, but a special few would give it so good, he'd only want to bring it home to them every night. It sounded like the kind of thing some philosopher would say. Travis would have to look it up. So, anyway, he might date a lot of girls and fuck a few groupies, but women were like spiders, and the few that caught him mentally dozing got swallowed down and momentarily made his stomach feel full. Something.

It was still just an idea. He knew he didn't want to call it being caught in her web, because everybody said that. He definitely wanted to use the word arachnid, though.

"Quick -- first thing on your mind," Bill said, pulling up Travis's arm by the sleeve and then dropping it. He leaned against the side of the stage with him.

Travis turned his hand over and back again, half-smiling. "Arachnid fucking." He offered up his smoke. "Hm?"

"Hot," Bill said, batting his wrist against Travis' own. He draped an arm over Travis' shoulders instead, over the hoodie, his forearm warm on his neck. "Joint or cigarette?"

"Little bit of this, little of that."

"You buy it like that?"

"I just don't want to be out here that long. Rolled two in one," Travis said, pausing to inhale. Bill relaxed more, letting Travis bear more of his weight. "Gettin' heavy, kid."

Bill pushed his face into Travis' neck. A long sigh built into a deep groan, his mouth landing somewhere on the collar of his shirt, cushioned by his jacket.

"I'm worn the fuck out, Schlep," and Bill spoke right into the fabric. He laughed in short bursts, exhausted and maybe a little wired. 

Travis had to stand up straight to dig his roach clip from his pants pocket. It was a tiny metal hair clip really, but hey. Whatever worked was more than worthy. Bill backed off enough to give him searching room, crossing his arms. He palmed his own skin where the sleeves of the t-shirt stopped, and as soon as Travis had the clip in one hand, he pulled Bill back in with the opposite arm.

"Baby, momma told you 'bout going outside with no clothes on," Travis muttered, turning Bill in toward him. "Everybody hanging it up for the night?"

"Yes -- no. I don't know. Siska was talking about a party." 

Bill dipped his arms inside the jacket, wrapping them loosely around Travis' middle. Travis angled out just enough to have one arm over Bill's shoulder but turned out to exhale away from them both. 

"Right, right. 'Sashi was on about a spot earlier," Travis said. He opened the clip to drop out the butt and then stuffed it back in his pocket, coming back with both arms over Bill. 

And, yes, Travis was hugging him, full-on and affectionate, squeezing just enough to make Bill gasp once. Travis generally thought he understood people better the nearer they got to him, anyway. In today's isolated, claustrophobic society, proximity made people anxious and honest. He could learn a lot about a person simply based on who was brave enough to approach him, and Bill wasn't afraid of anybody was the thing. So, fuck it, yes, Travis held onto Bill, feeling the weed and nicotine start to hum through him, buzzing in his blood. He was warm, Bill was warming up, and it just felt good.

"Dude, _can_ spiders fuck?" Bill asked suddenly, and Travis laughed.

They opened up enough for walking. "Man, I don't even know. But I saw one run across my shoe earlier."

Travis left one arm across Bill's shoulders and Bill's own stayed solid underneath his jacket, tingling where it touched his back through his shirt. Ecstasy was stronger, of course, back when Travis popped shit all the time to get by. It had him rubbing up against everybody just to fucking feel how soft their hair was, but some good chronic heightened his senses enough to have slow touches send chills up his spine the same way vodka made him horny. And, well. Travis couldn't vouch for any of the other parties involved, but some of his best nights happened when he was completely blitzed, a fifth and two blunts, sometimes topped off with half a Black to give him the extra rush. Other times not.

But Bill? See, Travis _could_ say intoxication was a huge part of the reason he liked having people like Bill around. There was a chance that it might be generally true. Travis got hands-on under the influence, and it helped to find people who didn't mind wandering fingers, but Travis often ended up next to Bill specifically even when he was sober. He never really acquired the skills to talk to others and not tell them exactly what he meant, so he had told Bill early on that he knew he was good people because Bill didn't piss him off after Travis took aspirin to curb the hangover.

Immediately, he'd tried to rephrase, explaining, "I'm saying you're cool."

Bill had bumped into him a little, saying, "No, I got it. I like the first way you said it," and that was why they were friends.

They rode to the hotel in separate vans, but Travis found him again at the hotel. He came by and scooped Bill up nearly over his shoulder, Bill shouting out about helping bring stuff upstairs. Everybody pulling bags and guitars out of the vehicle laughed. Typical Travis, stoned and playful; typical Bill, always being carried away by someone. He carried him all the way through the lobby, waiting until the elevator opened and he punched the button for their floor before dropping him. Travis put him down in the corner, sort of pinning Bill between himself and the wall.

"Insane ass," Bill said, grinning and shifting against the panel, trying to feel out the groove.

Travis said, "On my best days," and held him there.

"Plus, now everybody thinks I'm some Animal Planet pervert, because I keep asking about spider sex --"

"Hey, that's all you. The bigger question -- no, for real, check it out -- is can spiders be arachnophobic?" Travis suggested, because, face it, he had never been in love. And if he was trying to make that and swallowing bugs one in the same, a guy had to wonder where people like them fell into the equation.

Three steps below demigod, one above average? The problem was the more people that knew his name in this business; the less he could trust they were being real with him. Hollywood was incestuous, but it didn't get that way for no reason. On the whole, though, Travis had to be doing much better than the household names. And maybe trust and booze were the reason he made out with Bill Beckett on the balcony the other night, but it probably couldn't account for why he wanted to do it again.

And -- huh. That did happen, didn't it?

Travis tucked his arm around Bill, holding onto his belt and flicked his thumb back and forth between skin and leather. It had been chilly Monday night, but not uncomfortable, and Bill tasted like. Like. He remembered the idea of it more than he could recall how things went down, but the longer he looked at Bill, the more their familiarity felt changed. Charged? The haziness of the memory put him on edge.

He said, "You didn't tell me I kissed you."

Bill squinted up at the lights and smiled, swatted his hair aside.

"You were there," he said, pushing up along the wall. Travis moved in even closer, holding Bill the extra inches higher. His fingertips brushed so low now that it might be hard to say he wasn't grabbing Bill's ass.

"Maybe in body." Travis ducked in, chin set in the curve between neck and shoulder.

Bill said, "And spirit. Definitely in spirit," his knee knocking into Travis' own. "We're gonna scare old ladies if this elevator stops."

Travis laughed. "Like grandma don't get down now and then."

He turned his head and bit hard enough to tickle but soft enough to spare Bill any scars. From there it just seemed like the polite thing to close his mouth and press lips. Bill laughed, too, in soundless breaths. Travis trailed up, not kissing as much as dragging his mouth along the smooth expanse of skin and breathing in the smell of Bill's hair.

As he reached the softer spot near the ear, he felt Bill shiver. Nothing big, but something enough to boost incentive, and Travis muttered, "I wanna do it again."

The prospect sounded even better out loud.

"You're stoned," Bill said, and he wasn’t panting a little, was he? No. Really?

Travis said, "A little bit," smiling. He pulled Bill's hips forward. Yes, palming his ass now, and what? Bill came along easy, and they didn't make the right contact exactly, but Travis got his point across. Bill was smart enough to take a big hint. "I'll remember this time better."

Finally -- _finally_ \-- the elevator pulled up to a stop. Bill said, "Longest ride of my _life_ ," and Travis might have taken advantage of the joke there if his reflexes weren't kind of shot. Hell, if he weren't a little too turned on.

Guess what? It looked like really good weed made him just as horny.

He let Bill push past him to step into the hallway. Travis shadowed him, shrugging off his jacket as they went. Inside, he tossed his keycard on the end table, flipped the light switch and turned around.

"Adam has his shit everywhere," Bill said, pushing at his hair again as he toed off his shoes.

Travis said, "I'm kinda not caring," as he tossed his hoodie toward a bed. He moved in and walked Bill back into the dresser, the first kiss quick and dry. Bill fisted Travis's shirt, standing on his toes as Travis grabbed onto his hips, lifted him, and his back crashed into the wall. Bill grunted into Travis' mouth, muttering, "Trav -- Trav," breathing in sharp and deep through his nose.

"My bad. Sorry, I'm a little," Travis started, but Bill just shook his head, canted his hips forward on the wood and pulled Travis in tighter, leg bent behind Travis' thigh.

He muttered, "No, not -- " and leaned back some to get hands on his own shirt. When Travis caught on he helped Bill bring it over and off, setting it aside on the dresser and coming forward to kiss him again.

Bill opened his mouth, all silky-slick heat and tiny moans, and when he started rolling his hips forward in a stuttered rhythm, Travis dug his thumbs into Bill's thighs. He was hard, he realized. They both were, and maybe the agenda wasn't so much making out as getting off as soon as possible. Not that Travis could object to that plan of action.

"If you want," Bill offered and left it open, letting Travis taste him with eyes closed and fingers moving back and forth methodically. "If you want, I can..."

And Travis forewent real answers for curving a hand under Bill's ass. He jerked him tight against his owns hips. It was more than a little ridiculous, half-humping Bill and wooden drawers. Travis managed air enough to say, "You've got the upper hand here," and Bill held both hands on Travis' face to get them to pull apart.

"Okay. All right." 

Bill talked more to himself than anything. He scraped bottom teeth over his top lip while he concentrated on Travis' belt. Travis alternated between watching Bill's mouth and fingers, and when Bill tried to curve down more to get at the buckle, Travis used the hand by then sandwiched under Bill's thigh to lift the front of his shirt up for him.

"Fuck," Bill mumbled, thumb slipping across the metal another time, futile. He looked up. "I just want to stick my hands down your pants. It shouldn't be this hard."

Travis said, "mm, Let me," and Bill sat back to open his own pants in the interim. It was impossible not to just appraise him like this: breath shallower than normal but otherwise casual in the way he unbuttoned himself and shoved his hand in like nothing.

He lifted his hips, pressing one hand hard into the dresser, and asked, "Could you -- just."

It took Travis a second longer than it should have to comprehend, but he eventually grabbed the tops of Bill's jeans. He didn't pull them off, just south far enough to function, the material stretched below hipbones and halfway down Bill's ass. And Travis watched him jerk off right there, lips parted and eyes lidded until Bill sat up and braced his forehead under Travis's chin, blocking his view.

Travis felt Bill's quick breaths warm his throat. He turned his face down and easily buried his mouth in Bill's hair, soft and thin across his face like cobwebs, and Travis hadn’t even realized he was touching himself until Bill grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

Bill moved Travis's hand to his crotch. Travis's fingers skipped across the open zipper and bumped over knuckles, Bill asking, "Schlep. You still here?" which made Travis smirk and show him exactly how present he was.

He couldn't see with Bill's head still in the way, so it was all blind touch -- Travis's hand over Bill's dick. Bill groaned into Travis's skin, and Travis wanted to know what it looked like, so he used the free hand to lift Bill's face. Bill panted hard over his lips, hissing, "Shit," and Travis kissed him until he felt Bill shake.

Foreheads together, Travis watched his hands in Bill's lap. Bill slowly sat back more, mouthing, "fuck, fuck," more than actually chanting and Travis loved it. He loved the way he bit his lips up, loved how he scraped his fingernails across his stomach, and loved that Bill shot forward to kiss Travis as he came, inevitably losing the focus midway through. Instead, he sat with his mouth open and a clammy hand across Travis's cheek.

His come down shock didn't last long, thank God. He attacked while Travis wiped his hand on Bill's discarded shirt, snatching Travis nearer by the loose ends of his belt. Bill pushed his pants down until they caught around his knees, and Travis spared one lucid moment to be glad his phone didn't hit the floor before Bill was touching him. He stroked downward, grip firm even at the awkward angle.

Travis nearly climbed onto the dresser himself. He braced one hand against the wall and grit his teeth over Bill, who grinned sloppily at him.

He said, "You look so goofy right now."

Travis just made a face at him, faltering when Bill squeezed a little more on the following stroke. He licked his lips, and Bill greeted him halfway, tongue lingering longer with each kiss. Travis was close now, pumping his hips in time with Bill's rhythm, almost almost almost --

"Hey, Bill! You in there?"

The knock on the door made Travis jump, made him come hard and long, Bill fucking giggling through the whole thing as Travis growled, "Fuuuuuck."

"Yeah, gimme a second!" Bill called out to the divider door between this room and the one adjacent, hand slowing but still insistent. To Travis, he promised, "Next time, I'm gonna blow you," before he pushed him upright.

Bill wiped his hand on the t-shirt, too, and threw it in one of his bags. Travis went to the bathroom to straighten himself out and wash his hands. When he came out, Bill had on another shirt, pants all zipped up and completely composed as he talked to Butcher.

Butcher was saying, "Well, shit, I thought they brought the rest of your stuff up," and he gave Travis a high-five as he crossed the room for his jacket. "Call downstairs -- "

"I'll just go back down myself," Bill said. He sat on the bed next to Travis and tied up his shoes again, lightly tapping at Travis's thigh with his knuckles for no reason. Then he said, "Oh! Hey. Andy, do spiders fuck?"

"What?" Butcher glanced up at the ceiling. "mm, dude, I don't know. I don't think so."

Bill pointed at Travis as he walked toward the door to the hallway. "I'm gonna find somebody who knows by the end of the night. I'll be back in a minute."

After he left, Butcher asked, "Are you hungry, dude? There's this sandwich place a couple blocks away and I've been craving pastrami all day."

Travis shook his head. He stood up, dug around in his pockets and tossed his empty cigarette pack into the trashcan. "Nah, I'm good. I'm gonna run next door and get some more p-funks. Chill out here, work out some shit in my head."

"All right, man," Butcher said. He gave Travis a low five this time, and Travis took the back stairs down to the lobby when he left.

It was kind of rank in the stairwell. The lights shined dimmer than in the hallway and main stairs. He didn't hold onto the railing just in case he ran his finger through webs and took the steps down quickly.

Something, like, eight, Travis thought. Maybe more or less depending on who you were, what you did. Travis didn't think he'd swallowed any yet, but it wasn't the sort of thing people saw coming. Outside, Bill closed the van doors and tapped on the side as the engine started up, looking around to spot Travis as he picked up his guitar, and he'd said something about a next time. Something.

Whatever worked.


End file.
